Lay down amidst the fever trees,
where night orbs weave silk tales.
Consider the soft laughter of autumn leaves,
whispering secrets meant for nobody.
Deepest of the deep, shadows dance upon the still pond,
A croak breaks silence, and the world tilts its head.
In the fog of the arched passage
wait one thousand wild plans.
Though the path unravels, destinations are souvenirs
for intrepid wanderers.
Bramble dreams clutch the edges of twilight,
Interrupting the narrative flow.
But not all whispers carry benevolence,
Some quiet murmurs sting;
read a chilling tale of silence:
Evils sharpening behind clasped smiles.
Slumber steals judgment away,
Fingers clasp gently upon its hem.
Awaken; breath the still night air,
and learn from echoes, untangled and unfound.
Days are captive under unnamed hands.
Watch portals reshape in vigilance and curiosity.